


caught between a spark and lightning

by queenwithoutacrown



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenwithoutacrown/pseuds/queenwithoutacrown
Summary: It's not that she isn't happy to see him.For the record, she is.The urge to just throw her body into him, wrapping herself around him and never letting go, it's so strong she's almost vibrating on the spot.  Though the urge to throw the door in his face is quite overwhelming as well.





	caught between a spark and lightning

It's not that she isn't happy to see him.

For the record, _she is._

Karen is happy, she is delighted, elated, over the moon, pick literally any other definition from the dictionary. Her heart is beating 130 beats per minute, a constant staccato and she feels her pulse racing through every blood vessel. It's like a jungle drum calling for war inside her body, like heralding the start of hunting season.

The urge to just throw her body into him, wrapping herself around him and never letting go, it's so strong she's almost vibrating on the spot. But her feet weigh tons, lead and concrete.

Her arms wrap around herself instead.

She is familiar with her own body at least, with the loneliness that comes with being alone.

Though the urge to throw the door in his face is quite overwhelming as well. But she doesn't give into it. She'd never give into it, it's not who they are to each other. Which is how they find themselves staring at each other for a good three minutes now with no end in sight.

Karen's leaning against her door frame, while Frank awkwardly shuffles from one feet to another, his hands gripped tight around his rucksack and a white plastic bag. Neither of them has spoken the first word, it would be like surrendering. They are content in watching the other breathe.

The injuries have healed, the bruises faded and there are only scars written over his skin as a reminder of what he has gone through.

Finally he lets out a breath and his lips open. Not that she has been staring. "Thought we might spend the evening together, in case you didn't have any other plans?"

The question mark at the end feels like its own entity, a third person in their conversation. All of his visit is hinged on this, she realizes, her approval the shaky foundation he has built his courage upon.

"I brought takeout." Frank adds and lifts the plastic bag a little higher. It's endearing, Karen finds.

She steps back into her apartment, opens the door in invitation. He takes a few wary steps inside. She still hasn't said a word to him. Her mouth is a dried-up well, dirt and dust. Whatever she has wanted to say, all the good and the bad, it's gone with him so close to her.

It feels like a dream, a hallucination with him so close to her. So Karen zeroes in on what's real.

The tree next to her couch is real. It's small and sparsely decorated, but it's real. She still has principles, memories from so long ago it doesn't even feel real anymore. But the tree either has to be real or she doesn't get one at all, she won't yield on that.

She'd toyed with the idea of not getting one at all.

Her nails digging into her palms are real too, just as the crescent-shaped dents they leave behind. The grey nail polish is cracked and peeled off on some. She should paint them in a more festive colour.

"Karen."

_Karen._

It's not Ma'am anymore, it's her first name and all it stands for.

"Huh?"

"Hey, you alright?"

_Endless, echoing loneliness. Bullshit, we're all lonely._

She nods, "Yeah." Soft music from her Spotify playlist rings out through the apartment. Karen walks toward her kitchen to get plates for them. "What did you get us?" she asked, her back to him.

"Burgers and sweet potato fries from a diner a few blocks away. One of the guys in my support group recommended it. It's pretty hipster though, if you ask me."

The tidbit of information surprises her so much she almost drops the plates. It's an olive branch, a peace offering freely given.

"Well, you're the expert. I'm still waiting for the man bun you promised me," she answers as she turns to face him. The skin around his eyes crinkles at the amused half smile he sends her way. Warmth blooms between her ribs.

"Not gonna happen," he says. But there it is again, the soft look in his eyes.

"It sounds nice, the group I mean. I'm glad you're --- I'm glad."

"It is."

Frank lays the food on the dining table, Karen gets them each a bottle of beer, before they sit down opposite of each other. The silence between them is a tad stilted, but not uncomfortable. It's a continuation of what happened in the elevator.

She can still feel the imprint of his hand cradling the back of her head, her neck. How debris rained down on them. The tears in both their eyes.

The burger tastes heavenly. It's nice, ordinary, domestic. Spending time together without an ulterior motive, without the next big bad waiting around the corner. For the moment it's just them, careful glances and tentative smiles and all.

"How have you been?" she asks eventually, shoving a fry into her mouth.

"Better. I finished a lot of---, of business, you know. I'm officially a free man now. Well, Pete Castiglione is."

"Frank, that's wonderful. I'm happy to hear that."

"What about you?" He chews on his burger and waits for her answer expectantly.

She wants to say she's fine. But I'd would be a lie. She has trouble sleeping at night and trouble staying awake throughout the day. She forgets too eat for hours because she is too absorbed in her work. She missed him, _misses him._

_Endless echoing loneliness._

It's not like she is entitled to his time and attention, but he's quite possibly the only person that understands her and she just hopes whatever feeling is caught in the maelstrom of her heart isn't unrequited. She will live if it is, has braced herself for it even, survival is written into the code of her DNA, but well, she is all heart.

Lying and pretending come to her mind, she is so so good at faking it these days, but what's the point?

"You couldn't have let me know you're alive?" Karen drops her hands into her lap and stares onto the texture of the dining table instead of looking at him. "Just a word. Something. Anything."

"Karen."

"Don't."

Unwanted tears well up, damn him. She'd rather rip out her heart than let him see her cry in this very moment. He has seen her cry before, for different reasons. And right now her pride is getting kicked to the ground and the hurt wins.

"I know you're not used to anybody caring about you anymore and I get it, okay? I get it. But is it so hard to believe that I might actually care if you live or die, if you're hurting?"

It's too late, everything she's held back spilling like overboiling milk. She knows how it sounds and she doesn't like it, doesn't like herself right now. Her fear of pushing him too far too fast eats her away from the inside out.

"I'm not a saint, Frank." It is barely audible, but she has to say it. All her secrets lie gift wrapped on her tongue, she just has to offer them up to him. Not now, not yet.

"I'm sorry, Karen. I'm sorry I put this upon you." His hands reach across the table, land on her forearms and hold on. His hands are huge compared to her tender wrists. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know, _god_ , I know. It's not your fault." She blinks back tears, but they roll down her cheeks regardless. She is looking at him now and there's so much pain in his eyes. And she's put it there.

"Yeah, I think it is," he says quietly. His thumb rubs over her pulse point.

"I choose to help you. Out of my own free will, and I always would do it again." There's no room for misinterpreting her meaning. Frank knows, she can see the small smile.

"You were right. When you said I didn't care about myself. I didn't. But I care about you. And I'm scared, you know." Frank keeps up his gentle ministrations of her skin and she doesn't dare to move. "I'm scared shitless, Karen. But there's this silence in my head and all I hear is your voice."

All words fail her.

There's a silence in her head now. Whatever she had expected would happen if she let him into her apartment again, it isn't this.

She moves towards him, deliberately. "Frank---"

Nobody could ever pinpoint who initiated it in the end, who touched whom first. But their lips crash, at a slightly uncomfortable angle over the dining table. She moans into his mouth and he answers with a groan in return.

It's uncharted territory, new and just a little clumsy. Hopeful daydreams are only moderately helpful when Karen's faced with the reality of his tongue sliding into her mouth. The table between them is a hindrance she decides, so Karen tugs at the sleeve of his hoodie and pulls him upright, without breaking their kiss for even a second.

They fall onto her couch, Frank first and her in his lap. She can feel his hard-on through his pants.

"Tell me you're not doing this out of pity," she says, begs, _whatever_. It's not a question, but a concern. She's not denying it works, but well. She's scared too.

"I'm doing this---," he punctuates his words with breathtaking kisses, "because I really want to. Have for a while. You're gorgeous, Karen."

Her heart stutters.

She doesn't know what to reply, so she kisses him instead of talking. They are both so touch-starved, even through the fabric of her blouse his touch makes her shiver. His fingers card through her hair, again and again. 

Eternities pass between them, learning each other together. Eventually Frank's head rests against the backrest, her head dropped into his neck. They're both breathing hard, so close to each other.

It's not enough.

It _never_ is between them.

Their secrets, their losses, they have nurtured the loneliness, let it grow. They are struggling in the thicket of its roots, swallowed whole by it. But together, they might pull each other out.

"Not to get ahead of myself, but I have a bedroom with a really nice bed. It's new." Her head's still pillowed on his chest, so she can hear the chuckle that vibrates through his body.

"I'd never miss out on a chance like that."

Frank picks her up easily, his hands on her ass and the small of her back and she wraps her legs around his waist. She vaguely gestures in the right direction, as best as her limited brain capacity allows it, because he starts kissing her again.

"You want this?" he whispers against the shell of her ear.

"More than anything else."

He sets her down on her bed and she asks herself if she's got _handle with care_ tattooed somewhere on her body.

They let go of each other long enough to lose their clothes and send the pieces flying through the room. Karen pulls at the zipper of his hoodie, finally touching the warm skin underneath. It's marred with scars, a reminder of what he has survived. 

She unbuttons her blouse herself, because it's one of her favourites and she doesn't trust him to not destroy it in the heat of the moment, while Frank pulls down her skirt, tights and panties in one go.

Impressive time-management on his part, she has to admit. Her bra lands somewhere on the floor and his eyes drop to her breasts, before mouthing hot kisses against them.

His palm gives the inside of her thigh a slow stroke, down to her knees and back up to her hip. His lips are cherry-red and kiss swollen and Karen takes pride in her work. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her, if the same unreal sensation is taking hold of him too.

She wants to enjoy this, catalogue every single sensation just in case, but with every touch of his yet another thought flees the sinking ship of her sane mind. All her worries are put on hold, for this, for him.

Her fingers sink into his hair and pull him closer, until there isn't an inch between them. She kisses him with the burning desire inside her, the passion that colours every aspect of her life. She wants _wants wants_.

Frank pushes a finger into her and her back arches. His other arm wraps around her waist and keeps her in place. With his mouth he kisses a wet trail from her breasts downward, mapping her freckles and birthmarks.

At her hipbone he stops. "Can I?" he asks sheepishly.

Karen laughs, breathless. "Be my guest."

He adds another finger and his mouth on her clit and--- His name leaves her lips involuntarily, before she can bite down her teeth. A secret identity isn't worth much if she's screaming his real name through all of Hell's Kitchen.

She expected him to be good, but there are light years between her imagination and him going down on her and it's spectacular. Quitting her job and never leaving her bed again crosses her mind, before his tongue licks a steady pattern against her clit and the thought's gone.

Her toes curl and she moans into the crook of her elbow. _God, please, Frank, don't stop_. His hands stroke down her thighs again, bringing her down from the high of her orgasm.

"I'm so glad I didn't throw the door in your face earlier tonight," she says lazily, her arms still across her face. He's kissing her collarbone, her throat, her mouth.

"I aim to please."

"You earn perfect scores."

Frank nips at her jaw, covering her body with his.

"Wait."

He freezes above her and Karen feels herself blush in embarrassment. She crushes her lips on his in reassurement. "Condom. We need one."

"Shit, sorry."

Every part of her refuses to let go of him. But she's sure as hell not going to rely on the messed up schedule she'd taken her pill recently and if there's one thing they both really don't need right now, it's a kid.

Her feet run over the cool tiles of her bedroom floor. She knows there aren't any in her bedside drawer, hadn't been in any way needed ever since she had moved into the new apartment.

Karen reckons there should be some in an old clutch of hers from when she still went out, somewhere at the back of her closet. She is freezing cold and only a little embarrassed to be rummaging in her stuff fully naked with Frank most likely watching her from the bed.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. And she might actually, _literally_ die if she doesn't find one.

But then she touches the black purse and pulls out the foil packet from the inside pocket. It's not expired yet and she silently thanks whatever deity that wants her to have sex tonight.

"Found one," she gloats and holds it over her head like Simba in 'The Lion King'. She raises an eyebrow at his dark look. "Enjoying the show?"

"Very much, ma'am."

Her gaze pointedly lands on his erection. "Likewise."

She all but sprints back to the bed, clinging to his warm body. Karen rips open the condom, strokes his erection a few times before rolling it onto him. The expression of pure bliss on his face is worthy of the Louvre.

Karen leans back against her pillows and widens her legs to accommodate him and then he's slowly, so slowly sinking into her. She marvels at the half moons her nails leave on his shoulder and eases up a little. Frank doesn't seem to mind.

They find a rhythm, slow and steady. She matches his thrusts with every movement of her hips. His forehead comes down until they are touching and kissing and being. It feels like coming alive, like burning from the inside, like coming home.

It's not angry and fast, the way she had imagined their first time. It's more and it's better and it's real. It's relief and happiness and letting go. Her heart almost bursts out of her chest.

The familiar heat starts to pool low in her belly and his thrusts become feverish. He's kissing her again, as if his life depends on it.

"Let go," she whispers against the corner of his mouth.

Her walls clench around him and she feels her release all through her body. Frank comes right behind her, her name a hymn on his lips. He cradles her in his arms, before he slips out and they start breathing somewhat regularly again.

"Am I forgiven?" Frank's smirk is too much to handle, even in the dim glow of her bedside lamp.

"If that's your apology every time, all we're gonna do is fighting."

A gentle bite to her shoulder is the only response she gets, she needs. 

"I'm still messed up, Karen. But I wanna try," he says. 

"Me too," she answers and means everything, messed up and trying. She'll claw her way through thorns, if it means there'll be an after for him. _For them._

His body is curved all around her, shielding her from the world around. She doesn't need protection, not when so many of her demons reside inside her. She relishes in it anyway. The human furnace feature he has got going for him works quite well for her either.

"I'm gonna get us a year's worth of condoms for your bedside drawer tomorrow, k?" he mumbles into her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"Quite presumptuous, but yes please."

And then, drenched in sweat, basking in the afterglow, _finally,_ her eyes start to drop and sleep comes on soft wings and carries her away.

Them. _Together._

 

**Author's Note:**

> me: hey, let's write super hot smut, short and quick  
> my brain: but what if they had emotions, kissed a lot and it took you forever?  
> me: you're hired
> 
> \- the end
> 
> This got out of hand, I hope you still can enjoy it. Thank you for your lovely feedback, your comments always make me so happy. Thank you for reading <3
> 
> Title: Scared - Delta Rae  
> Tumblr: qqueenwithoutacrown


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